


La Piccola Morte

by VictoriaAGrey



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Drama, Hannibal's God Complex, M/M, Manipulation, Murder, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Romance, Sexual Content, Will and Hannibal are manipulative bastards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:24:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3542645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaAGrey/pseuds/VictoriaAGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal Lecter has evaded capture for 536 days before Will Graham catches up to him. Unwilling to return to the U.S. empty handed, Hannibal offers Will a deal: In exchange for his peaceful return, Will must spend one week with him in Italy. Will accepts his terms.</p>
<p>Why would Will accept Hannibal's proposal? What possessed Hannibal to make it? Neither has a motive which is pure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Piccola Morte

**Author's Note:**

> A massive thank you to my Murder Wife, Myurra, for putting up with deadline panic attacks, bouts of self-doubt, and periods where I just straight up dropped off the face of the Earth. This fic would not be here without you <3
> 
> Thank you thank you THANK YOU to my fabulous artist, LlamaNguyen, for drawing inspiration out of this story. I could not have asked for a greater companion in this adventure <3
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta, Leslie. Your corrections and suggestions made this a better piece <3
> 
> And last but not least, thank you to ColoredInk and HannibalsBattleBot for picking up the reins and making sure this Fling happened <3

The setting sun painted the Rome sky a bloody, midnight blue. Flood lights within the Colosseum flickered on, spilling forth an orange glow from its arches into the busy streets below. Birds that had not yet made their way home sang a melody into the light breeze which churned the spring air. Underneath the smells of dinner platters being delivered to guests, the scent of blooming roses wafted onto the balcony from the nearby Colle Oppio.

Lifting a crystal goblet to his lips, Hannibal Lecter applauded himself on his choice of location as the crisp wine washed over his tongue and slipped down his throat.

After sitting in a contented silence for several more minutes, he felt the atmosphere around him shift; the very molecules of the space he occupied seemingly animating to dance excitedly across his skin. Looking towards the glass doors that allowed admittance onto the balcony, his keen eyes greedily drank in the sight of the man he had been forced to walk away from 536 days past. The one whom he had taken a risk on and lost, too blinded by his affection and love for him to see through to the carefully designed deception.

Mere seconds passed before Will Graham roughly handled the designer chair opposite him and unceremoniously dropped himself into it, steadfastly staring at the Colosseum. Looking beyond Will’s outwardly hostile façade, Hannibal observed the true state of his companion. New, shallow wrinkles branched out from the corners of his dark sage eyes. Thin lips were pulled tight and puckered with ill-repressed fury. Stiff shoulders were unmoving beneath his black silk, button-up shirt. His skin, no longer pale tinged with gold, was almost sallow and stretched over his thinner face. It was a small blessing that he had managed to keep his facial hair and unruly curls under some semblance of control. Will was ill, likely having worked himself to the bone attempting to find him, and Hannibal thought he might feel guilty if Will hadn’t been the cause of this entire dilemma.

“Are you done?” Will bit at him, barely moving his lips.

Hannibal was almost tempted to smile at Will’s return to rudeness. “Hello, Will.”

Making eye contact with him for the first time since his arrival, Will glared at him before looking away in favor of examining the table’s centerpiece, a pale pink orchid floating on the water of a glass bulb vase. “Using your own name for a reservation. Stupid.”

“Calculated. I knew you were close.”

“You want to be caught?”

“No, I wanted to see you.”

Scoffing at his admission, Will turned to face Hannibal, eyes shimmering with malicious wit. “All I want is to see you in the same cell that you put me in.”

“Apparently not. The police have not been informed of my presence,” he retorted, pausing until Will kept eye contact with him. “You knew what you were walking into by coming here tonight.”

Chilly silence settled between them, cold and unfamiliar. Hannibal picked up the bottle of merlot from its place in the sterling silver bucket to pour Will a glass. “I have taken the liberty of ordering for us. The Argentinean kobe beef here is rated amongst the best offered in Rome.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Obstinacy for the sake of being obstinate is not becoming of you. Especially not when there are matters of far more importance for us to discuss.”

“Such as?”

“How you found me.”

Will lifted his goblet, swirling the fragrant red wine until the glass’s fill resembled a cyclone before taking a sip. “Lady Murasaki.”

“She would not disclose to you my location,” Hannibal assured, feeling his blood pressure rise. Will would have been single-minded in his pursuit of him, nonplussed by any obstacle to enter his path. The only way he could have coaxed from her a clue as to where he was, or _who_ , was through nefarious means. There were many things he could tolerate from Will, but he would not excuse him of any trespass against his estranged aunt.

“She didn’t. While she was preparing us tea, I went through the address book she had in her study’s desk. Does the name Augustas Vidas mean anything to you?” Will asked sarcastically.

A small smile, hidden at the edges of his mouth, snuck onto Hannibal’s face. “Until three months ago, it was my name. How did you know Mr. Vidas was me?”

“It’s not distinctly Lithuanian, you wouldn’t risk that. Unique, but not enough to stand out in a crowd. It’s the kind of name you would favor.”

“That name would have gotten you as far as my location being in the country. What assured you that I was still here?”

“Beheaded butcher last month. Head turning up with its cheeks carved out the next day on a pike facing west in front of the police station. It had your _tasteless_ sense of humor written all over it.”

Before Hannibal could respond, their aesthetically bland waiter placed their plates of kobe beef, glazed potatoes, and baby vegetables in front of them. The aroma from the food was full; the intense smell of herbs, rosemary being the strongest, curled through the air into Hannibal’s nostrils. It was delightful and he took great joy in carving into the meat, savoring the first taste with a relish only those with the most refined of palates could comprehend.

“Where’s Bedelia?” Will inquired after several minutes of quiet eating.

“At home,” Hannibal answered, careful to catalogue Will’s flinch for further examination later. “Does it surprise you to learn she is still alive?”

“Acquaintances of yours don’t tend to last long. Especially once they become a problem.”

“Bedelia has only aided me in my cover. Have you figured out why she came with me?”

“To study you,” he answered, incredulity dripping from every word. “Once in a lifetime opportunity. A psychopath has never been studied in the wild by a psychiatrist. She must have been thrilled when you presented the opportunity to her.”

“You believe I am a psychopath?”

“There’s nothing else to call you, whatever you are. It fits you well enough, though. Only psychopaths are cold blooded enough to murder their family and walk away unscathed.”

Actions speak louder than words, but together they were a lethal combination. Pure hatred leaked into Will’s already acidic tone and his eyes were gaping chasms of hurt; deep pain reflecting off pools of heartache Hannibal could not begin to analyze. As much as he had prepared himself for this moment, nothing could equip him to deal with Will looking straight at him, daring him to feel even a modicum of the hurt he was openly showing. Relenting to his will, Hannibal looked away, grasping his glass of wine for a much needed sip.

Knowing he was treading through shark infested waters, Hannibal delicately intoned, “I asked you to forgive me.”

“You once said we were her fathers. No father could ever forgive you for what you did,” Will informed him in a disbelieving voice before adding, “Hannibal, you murdered our daughter.”

The “I’m sorry” that left his mouth sounded weak and hollow even to his own ears.

Will huffed in disgust and turned away, no longer able to look at Hannibal. The violent tendencies he had patiently cultivated in Will seeped to the surface, the curl of his lips and the angry slant of his eyes told him the whole story. Will wouldn’t be so careless as do something in the open, but he would present a threat if they were left alone. It pleased Hannibal to see that his work - his magnum opus - was still very much intact.

“We both know why I’m here.”

“And you know why I revealed myself.”

“I can’t get you a deal. Even if I could, I don’t think Jack would be so inclined as to give one to you.”

“It’s not Jack I want a deal from.”

The furrowing of his eyebrows told Hannibal that Will did not see that coming. Hannibal would be surprised if anyone did. All that awaited him upon his return to the United States was a lifelong confinement at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane in a cell fronted by plexiglass; only enough holes drilled into its surface to keep him alive. For a man who prized his freedom above all else, the prospect of having every detail of his life dictated by the whims of someone as painfully shortsighted and dim as Frederick Chilton chilled him to the bone, but sacrifices had to be made.

“I have nothing to offer,” Will responded, sounding vaguely confused.

“You have plenty to offer me,” Hannibal assured before continuing. “Stay with me here for one week and I will peacefully return with you to America.”

“I spend one week with you here and you’ll just... fly back to the U.S. with me to be arrested?”

“Yes.”

Will held eye contact with him then, curiosity and genuine amusement coiling with something much darker and sinister, and Hannibal felt truly alive for the first time since he had last seen Will. Bedelia often fulfilled his need for intellectual stimulation, but Will was the only one capable of matching him move-for-move in the mind games he loved to play. He was a worthy opponent in a world where he had to play several others to achieve the same high and Hannibal knew this would be their best match yet.

“Deal,” Will agreed with a smirk on his face. “So, is this me falling into your trap to lay mine? Or you falling into my trap to lay yours?”

Hannibal returned his smile.

~~~

Thoughtful silence rested between Hannibal and Will as he drove them home; home being a flat he had in the heart of Rome. During the initial months of being on the run, he and Bedelia had travelled Europe, never staying in one place longer than a fortnight. It was only a matter of time before he was captured and he wanted to ingrain Europe in his memory palace for those long stretches of time when he would be confined with nothing but himself for distraction. Upon arriving in Rome, both agreed that it would be where they settled until such a time when they had to leave or face capture. It was a beautiful city that reveled in its ability to charm all with its architecture and strategically placed lights and Hannibal was no more immune to it than anyone else.

“How long have you had this place?” Will inquired as they parked on the street in front of the building, a two centuries old mansion which had been renovated to house flats on each of its five floors.

“About a year. I did not own it before I left, if that is what you are asking.”

Stepping out of the warmth of his Aston Martin into the chill of the night, Hannibal walked around the side of the car to stand beside Will as he marveled at the weathered stone pillars and arches, the engravings across the entrance speaking to him in a way people never could. He had never figured Will to be one who enjoyed art, but as Hannibal got to know him he saw that he did appreciate the finer points of human creation, he just didn’t go out of his way to surround himself with it as he did. Placing his hand on Will’s shoulder, clad in the fine wool of his grey coat, Hannibal guided him past the affable night doorman and into the elevator, gold plated doors closing to seal them inside. Tension radiated off of Will in a way it hadn’t the entire evening as they closed in on the top floor.

After hearing the gentle ping of the elevator and watching the doors slide aside, Hannibal and Will stepped into the small, circular foyer that acted as the entrance for the floor; orange, red, and white peonies in an ivory vase acting as the focal point of the room, filling it with their delicate scent. Moonlight filtered in through the domed skylight of the ceiling, making the eggshell and rose marble of the floor shine. A candelabrum on the glass table tinged the white walls the shade of raw honey. A malicious part of Hannibal hoped Will recognized that this flat could have been theirs and Abigail’s if he hadn’t allowed Jack’s poisonous “morals” to rule his actions.

Slipping the key into its slot and turning it, he pressed down on the gold handle and opened the heavy door. The dimmed light of the sconces in the sitting room cast a warm, forgiving glow across the space as the familiar notes of Rachmaninov’s Vocalise played through the flat’s intercom system. Will’s feet padding across the marble floor caught Hannibal’s attention and he turned to him, anticipation thrumming through him for his reaction.

“It’s beautiful,” he quietly affirmed to him as he dragged a hand over the back of a dark blue velvet tufted couch.

“I’m glad you like it,” Hannibal replied, pleased that Will looked to be comfortable in this new place. “May I take your coat?”

Will distractedly handed it to him as he continued to absorb the new environment; its modern take on Parisian chic a far cry from the decadent, but efficient décor of his Baltimore residence. Hanging both of their coats on the rack beside him, Hannibal gave him a few seconds to take in the room before asking him to follow him down the hall to the left, which opened into the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances and gold-flecked black granite countertops gleamed in the ambient light Bedelia favored, the woman in question leaning against the island with a glass of her favorite red in hand.

“Will, Bedelia. Bedelia, Will,” he needlessly introduced. “Although, I do believe you two have already met.”

“Hello, Will,” Bedelia greeted before taking another sip, her features tightening.

“Dr. DuMaurier,” he replied in a voice that sounded similarly, and unnecessarily, stiff.

“May I offer you some wine before I show you to your room?” Hannibal offered before the unease in the room could take shape. “Bedelia has exceptional taste in wine.”

“No, thank you. I’d rather go to bed.”

“Very well. If you’ll - ”

“I’ll show him to his room,” Bedelia interrupted as she placed her empty glass on the counter. “If you don’t mind,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

“If you wish. Goodnight, Will.”

Fixing Hannibal with an intense expression, Will bid him a goodnight before preceding Bedelia out of the room. Making his way towards his and Bedelia’s bedroom, Hannibal contemplated the game she and Will were now playing and all its possible endings, as well as wondering how furious Will would be when he saw that he had already had his luggage retrieved from the hotel he was staying in and assorted into his closet.

~~~

The morning saw Hannibal and Will in Vatican City walking through St. Peter’s Square on approach to the basilica. Bedelia had declined Hannibal’s offer to join them after a glance in Will’s direction told her something Hannibal did not see. Will had been quiet all morning, responding only when prompted so as to not appear rude; the behavior grating on Hannibal as it thrilled him. His silence was not so much absentminded as it was contemplative. The cogs were already turning in his mind to determine his next move and regardless of what Will may think, he could not read his mind. Manipulation through silence was not something that was traditionally in the cards for them. It wasn’t until they were within the basilica’s vast narthex that Will spoke to him without first being compelled to do so.

“St. Peter’s Basilica. Seems a tad pedestrian for your tastes.”

“There is nothing pedestrian about one of the finest feats of architecture in the world. If anything it is fortunate that the public at large values it. So many works of art go unappreciated except by those exceptional enough to notice.”

Throngs of people being led on designated tours through the church crowded the area, jostling Hannibal and Will apart in their need to stay with the group even if it meant elbowing their way past other tourists. The influx of people overwhelmed Hannibal’s senses with far too much input and he nearly lost focus on his control when a loud Austrian man stepped on his foot, scuffing the toe. Hannibal could practically feel and hear the satisfying snap his neck would make in his hands when he gave it one powerful twist to the right, body collapsing to the ground with a loud thunk. Before he could act on his impulse to get the man’s name in order to call upon him later, Will’s hand connected with the small of his back, centering him in the now as he directed them down the nave which led to the central dome.

As they walked through the hall, Hannibal could feel Will surreptitiously stealing glances of him, probably wondering how much of a threat he was at the moment. That momentary lapse in control would not have been evident to an outsider, but to Will it would have been as obvious as a beacon in the dark of night. The telltale dilation of his pupils, the smooth mask he wore becoming cold and hard, the elevated pulse ticking in his neck. The killer that rested in wait under the surface coming up to breathe and take a victim for its troubles was someone that Will now intimately knew and could recognize. Thinking it best to not dwell on what could have been, Hannibal looked up into the dome and then towards Will.

“I often think of you when I come here.”

“St. Peter was a martyr killed for confessing his faith in Christ. You think of me as your follower?”

Exasperation and annoyance were evident in Will’s voice and it only served to remind Hannibal of what he had missed in their time apart. “Man was created in the image of God, but the few who recognize this for what it is, the power that puts in their hands, are set apart; as you and I are. We create our own destinies and refuse to fall prey to others wishing to sweep us into theirs. No, when I come here I do not think of you as St. Peter, but as the church itself.”

Turning to face Will, he saw his that his grey eyes were glowing with curiosity. It wasn’t often when they weren’t tinted with a shade of indignation, whether directed towards himself or not, and he warmed at the thought of them sharing a dialogue free from the vitriol which had colored most of their final conversations.

“This church was not the only one to ever grace this sight. Several churches have been built here, built up to only be redesigned later or completely destroyed. But everything that happened before led to the actualization of what it could truly become. No doubt the churches before were beautiful, but now it is a work of art filled with masterpieces from the greatest artists of the day. It dominates the Roman skyline and still captivates the attention of people the world around, at least on a superficial level. But those who are willing to look deeper, see it for everything that it is, the reward is extraordinary.”

Will stared at Hannibal for several indeterminate seconds, words seemingly too jumbled in his throat to voice into coherency, before he took a deep breath.

“Does that make you my foundation or my disciple?”

“We all worship at the altar of a god, whether it be the one Catholics speak of or one of our own creation. What matters is how we allow ourselves to be humbled in the face of them. Do you feel as the Romans intended you to standing here, Will? Humbled before your god?”

“I’m humbled by the efforts of those whose hands built it, not of their god.”

“It was their god who directed them to construct this church.”

“No, they made a choice,” Will responded as he gazed at the towering curved arches. “They may have done this in the name of their god, but they are the ones who willed their hands into action.”

Hannibal watched Will roll up the sleeves of his white shirt before placing his hands in the pockets of his grey trousers. Tilting his head back in the direction they came, Will led the way as Hannibal silently followed his lead.

~~~

Hannibal was ruminating on his first complete day with Will later that night as he prepared himself for sleep in the bathroom when Bedelia came in. Sitting down at her mirror plated vanity, she began organizing the bottles she would need for her nightly mask. As was their routine, Hannibal wordlessly made his way towards her to thread his fingers through her verbena-scented strawberry blonde hair, the one distinct change she had made to her appearance and he emphatically approved of. Her silky hair smoothly fell through his fingers and he began to braid it for her so no stray strands would fall into her face while the mask was on.

“How was your day with Will?”

“Quiet.”

“I told you his displeasure into being manipulated to stay here with you could last the entire week.”

“He was distant, but not bitter. He’s thinking.”

As Hannibal tied a red ribbon at the end of the braid to keep it in place, Bedelia reached an arm back to grasp one of his hands. Pulling it so he would stand on her right side, she reached her hand up to caress his temple and over his cheekbone before placing it behind his ear and pulling him down for a gentle kiss. Her kiss was a familiar blend of safety and chilled wine.

“Goodnight, Hannibal.”

“Goodnight, Bedelia.”

~~~

Stirring before anyone else, Hannibal dressed himself with the intent of picking up fresh ingredients for omelettes au fromage. The day before, Will had woken before him and eaten fruit instead of waiting for him to cook breakfast and dinner that night had been at a restaurant just outside of the Vatican. Cooking for Will again was one of the many reasons he had been excited to have him stay and to have Will so easily deny him the privilege was irksome.

Well known faces smiled at him as he passed through the farmer’s market collecting the ingredients he would need. It was a pleasant morning, a light breeze chilling the air and the sun shone bright along the horizon. Voices chimed together in conversation as some bargained and others greeted in a tongue Hannibal had learned in his teenage years. It amused him to think of what these people would think if they were to find out that the nice man with Lithuanian accented Italian that bought food from them was a sadistic serial killer who ate his victims using produce they provided.

The sun was beginning to rise in earnest as he walked home and his feet carried him back at a rate faster than usual. Perhaps he could surprise Will with breakfast in bed if he was still sleeping and he was quick enough. Hannibal greeted the doorman, declining his offer to take the grocery bag from him as the elevator doors closed.

Alarm immediately replaced elation when the pungent smell of iron crashed into him upon opening the foyer door. Composing himself for what he might see, Hannibal slowly walked down the hallway to the kitchen, placing his bag on the island. From what he could immediately see from his view into the living room, Will was sitting in a chair before the floor length windows holding a crystal tumbler half filled with scotch between his fingers, arm hanging over the edge of the chair’s arm. Blood was gathering around Will’s bare feet, but the rest of Hannibal’s view was obstructed by a couch. Hesitantly approaching Will from the side, the carnage he created became apparent.

Will was covered in blood, but the knife lying in his lap was oddly clean; only the cutting edge painted in red. Blood spatter covered the windows and the back of the couch. Bedelia lay in a pool of her own blood in the center of it all, throat slashed and face frozen in a mask of acceptance. It was evident that Will had not attacked her from behind, but face to face; wanting to see the life literally drain out of her and onto the floor. Wanted her to know the face of the person claiming her life.

Placing two fingers over Will’s carotid, Hannibal was relieved to feel that his pulse was steady and rhythmic, not erratic as he had feared. Removing the blade from his lap and taking the precariously handled scotch from his hand, Will finally made eye contact with him.

“Will, I need you to shower while I clean up. Can you do that?”

Uncomprehending, cloudy eyes held his gaze. Will had entirely retreated into his mind, submerged himself beneath waves of absent intent so he could kill Bedelia in cold blood and then avoid what he had done. Placing the knife and glass to the side, Hannibal took Will’s hand and lifted him to his feet to guide him to the bathroom. Will’s feet squelched across the wood floor, leaving bloody foot prints in his wake leading from the living room to what had been Hannibal and Bedelia’s bathroom. Hannibal unlaced their fingers once they were inside and turned to switch on the steam shower so the water would warm. Not a second had passed after he had turned it on before one of Will’s arms wrapped around him and the other placed the straight razor from his vanity against his throat.

This was it. The crescendo at the end of the piece. The culmination of all his work. He took the besieged, troubled empath and turned him into a monster; one worthy of killing, catching, or joining him. Once it seemed he had made his choice, but he forged his own path and gave himself another chance. All it would take is sliding the razor over the thin skin of Hannibal’s neck for his definitive choice to be made, one that could never be reversed. But no matter what action he took now, Hannibal won.

“Do you know why I chose you, Will? What drew me to you?” Hannibal asked as he unhurriedly turned to face Will, Will moving as he did to keep the razor over his throat.

Stormy eyes, no longer clouded with numb recognition, raged with self-righteous wrath. His body shook with unrepentant bloodlust, only his hands holding steady. The nails of his left hand dug into Hannibal’s arm, likely leaving deep crescent shapes that would bleed if they sank any deeper. Breath thick with scotch washed over his face, mingling in morbid concert with the splashes of fresh, irony blood covering him. Mere inches separated Hannibal from the man wanting to make him bleed for his sins.

“I didn’t see you for what you were, but what you could be. Your pure empathy combined with your innate intelligence had brought you only grief; not as a price for your gift, but because it had never been cultivated. I focused your madness and gave it purpose. The only reason we are here, in this moment, is because you’re just as insane as I am.”

Time stretched into meaninglessness as Hannibal and Will stared at each other, daring the other to make a move so as to force their hand. Tremors stopped rolling through Will’s body, but the storm in his eyes continued to churn behind dilated pupils. When the press of the straight razor against his throat lessened, Hannibal moved to take it out of Will’s hand, Will giving it up easily so he could lay it on the counter beside him.

“I’ll go take care of Bedelia,” Hannibal told him as he lovingly twisted one of Will’s curls around his forefinger. “You shower. Should we honor her tonight?”

Will blinked several times, lips twitching in aborted speech as he leaned in. “Yes,” he replied before closing the distance between their lips. Everything about the kiss sang with danger. His lips were poisoned by his previous lover’s blood. Fiery alcohol coated his tongue. Insistent hands pulled on his hair as he deepened the kiss, discouraging any stray notion he may have had of pulling away. Hannibal knew there was a finality in it, one that he felt and Will eagerly conveyed.

It was a promise, a vow, that Will would one day be the death of him.

Never one to pass over an opportunity for veneration, Hannibal pulled on Will’s shirt before reaching for his own to undo the buttons. Will got the hint and stripped himself of his stained t-shirt and boxers as Hannibal quickly disrobed. He had often thought of this day, not sure if his fantasies would ever come into fruition, and now that the moment was here, he felt prepared in the sense that he at least knew where he wanted to start as he guided Will into the shower.

“Turn around,” Hannibal ordered as he reached for his shampoo. Watching the water cascade down Will’s toned back, droplets collecting in the dimples of the small of his back before falling down his butt, was a vision; one Hannibal wished to never be deprived of. First lathering the shampoo in his hands, he reached over to run his fingers through his wet hair, massaging his scalp.

“How long have you wanted to do this?” Will groaned as Hannibal’s hands moved to the base of his head, thumbs pressing into the space where spine meets skull.

“As long as you have.”

After washing the remnants of shampoo out of Will’s hair, Hannibal applied body wash to a loofah and dragged it across his back and over his arms, enjoying the sight of blood flaking and sloughing off his skin. Hannibal fell to his knees to draw the loofah over his butt, Will’s legs twitching at the contact, and down his legs. A gentle pull of his knee alerted Will that Hannibal wanted him to turn around and he did, looking hesitantly down at Hannibal as he lifted one leg at a time to wash his feet. Before he could continue his progress upwards, Will grabbed his hands and pulled him up, worshiping his mouth as he just had his body.

Control was something Hannibal prided himself in having in abundance, but it deserted him when he felt Will’s hardness against his own. He pushed him into the back wall then, moaning into the crook of his neck when Will rocked against him. Hannibal’s fervent hands reached down to grasp Will’s thighs and he lifted his legs, Will interlocking them behind his back with his ankles.

Water continued to pound down over them as they stood beneath the spray, finding a rhythm. It wouldn’t take much, both had been craving this for too long, but the thrill pumping through his veins as his hardness brushed against Will’s, Will’s breath catching in his throat as he closed in on completion, was enough to push him over the edge. Hannibal bit down hard on Will’s lower lip, perhaps hard enough to draw blood, as he came with a choked moan. Will followed quickly, the pain of Hannibal’s bite twining with pleasure perfectly.

It was the first time, in a long time, that Hannibal felt sated.

~~~

The dining room was set for their first dinner together - the first Hannibal prepared - since Will had arrived. A nineteenth century silver candelabra illuminated the room, its many arms holding royal purple candles. Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings funneled in through the speakers, setting the mood. Hannibal’s presentation was flawless as always, platters of food lay along the table to envelop the room in a delicious aroma. It reminded him of the meals they once shared back home before he had been forced to leave.

“Bedelia knew this would happen.”

“I do not believe she ever envisioned an ending where she came with me and survived the endeavor.”

“There’s no way she could have envisioned this.”

“She knew that when I was caught, it would be by you. It’s entirely possible she foresaw this end.”

Hannibal took a sip of Bedelia’s favorite red as he watched Will enjoy the tartar. Cooking was one of the great pleasures of his life, one of the few things trumping it being watching Will eat the fruits of his labor with evident pleasure.

Clearing his throat, which had been in danger of being cut open hours before, Hannibal asked, “Would you share a bed with me this evening?”

“I already moved my clothes into your room. I thought you’d appreciate that,” Will responded with a coy smile.

Returning his smile, Hannibal lifted his glass. “To Bedelia.”

“To Bedelia,” Will echoed as he clinked their glasses together and then lifted a forkful of tartar to his lips and ate it, enjoying the taste of Bedelia’s heart.

~~~

“If you tell me you often think of me when you come here, I might need to renege my deal,” Will chastised as he stood before a wall entirely composed of human skulls.

Hannibal inwardly laughed at Will’s quip. “No. I think of life.”

The Capuchin Crypt was a sight not often visited by the average tourist, often deemed too macabre a sight to bring families. The bones of over 3,700 friars adorned the walls in intricate designs through the entirety of the network of small, underground chapels. The Catholic Church insisted that the crypt should not be viewed as disturbing, but as a reminder of the passage of life. It was a message that few heard or understood.

“Death acting as a reminder of life. That what we have is precious and not to be squandered when life comes and goes in the blink of an eye.”

Notes of introspection crept into Will’s voice and considering the previous day’s events, Hannibal did not have wonder why.

“Death may also deliver life. The death of one giving birth to another so the cycle continues. Death is never the end, it is the beginning.”

~~~

The week passed faster than either could anticipate; a blur of fine food and bed sheets. On day eight, the day of their departure, melancholy tinted their morning routine of sex and breakfast. Neither spoke as they packed their necessities and made their way to the airport. Hannibal watched as Will struggled not to shut down, anchoring himself by running his thumb along the seam of Hannibal’s suit pants after they boarded the plane. When Hannibal saw nothing but ocean outside his window, he took Will’s hand in his to lace their fingers together and kiss his temple reassuringly. Both held the other’s hand in a white knuckle grip and took a deep breath when the plane’s wheels connected with the tarmac of Dulles International Airport in Washington, DC.

Twenty-nine miles separated them from Hannibal’s fate at Quantico and half-way through the drive, Will texted Jack that they were on the approach. The privacy panel separating them from their driver gave them seclusion, but there was nothing being shared between them that required privacy; both sitting in silence contemplating Hannibal’s imminent confinement.

The steps leading up to the FBI building were crawling with agents and illegally informed press clamoring for a good position to capture the first pictures of the newly apprehended Hannibal the Cannibal, Jack being the calm epicenter. Hannibal looked to Will then, for once not knowing what to say.

“Are you ready?” Will asked, voice cracking over his words.

“Yes,” Hannibal replied knowing that it was what Will needed to hear and he needed to believe.

Will leaned over then for one last kiss, gentle and sweet in a way that most would find surprising given the pair involved, and ran his thumb over his bottom lip affectionately when they parted.

“Okay,” was the last thing he said before opening the door on their grim future.

A crush of press and FBI agents surrounded them when they climbed out of the car, press for pictures and agents for arrest. Hannibal was immediately surrounded by armed agents who slapped handcuffs on his wrists and began maneuvering him up the steps towards the building. Behind him, he could hear Will and Jack’s conversation.

“Where’s Bedelia?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me, Will. I’m already having to make excuses for you.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Jack.”

“You think I’m being dramatic!? Did you know Bedelia had a failsafe system on her notes involving her time abroad with Hannibal? And that you’re featured in the final entries?”

“... failsafe system?”

“If she didn’t start the program and enter a password after 48 hours, all her files were transferred to the FBI servers. I know that you know what happened to her.”

“I was just on a plane for half a day. Can’t this wait till later?”

“I want my answers tomorrow.”

Needing to connect with him one last time before they were separated, he glanced over his shoulder towards Will. Threads of worry now drew his eyebrows closer together, but what Hannibal wanted to see most on his face was there: resolve. It affirmed to him that every action, every wrong turn he had taken, and all the lives claimed in the process were worth it. He may have to spend years in this hell before it happened, but one day he would escape and it would be Will’s faithful arms that greeted him.

**Author's Note:**

> I used this Spring Fling as an excuse to write and publish my first ever Hannigram fanfic. We have some amazing writers in this fandom and while this story pales in comparison to theirs, I hope it can hold its head up high.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed your read! Let me know what you thought here or come at me on my Tumblr, [mycroft-silently-judges-you](http://mycroft-silently-judges-you.tumblr.com)!


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